Begin the Beguine
by N.L. Rummi
Summary: COMPLETE. The crew of Serenity is offered a very lucrative job by a wealthy aristocrat. But when Mal is prevented from accompanying Zoë to the negotiations, there's only one man suitable for the job. [Zoë-Wash]
1. Movement the First

**Disclaimer:** This is a work of fiction based on the _Firefly_ 'verse created by Joss Whedon. No copyright infringement is intended; this is purely for fun and entertainment. Only the plot and a few minor characters and locales are from my own imagination.

**Rating:** PG-13

**Spoilers:** This story is set pre-series, but after the crew as we know it has all come together (with the obvious exception of Book, Simon and River). There are a few details that refer to series episodes (such as "Out of Gas"), as well as a very vague reference to _Serenity_, the movie. (Nothing overly spoilery.)

**Pairing(s):** Wash/Zoë

**Author's Notes:** This fic was written for the Zoë/Wash ficathon at LiveJournal. (Big thanks to ninamonkey for the beta!)

The Chinese text was researched at The Firefly-Serenity Chinese Pinyinary and MandarinTools(dot)Com. I take full responsibility for any and all mistakes in construction and interpretation of the chosen words and phrases.

I was honored to write this story for the very talented thegranddewru who requested:  
- banter  
- humor  
- sexy moments  
- without resorting to potty humor and/or a sad, hopeless ending

I hope it's enjoyed!

* * *

**Begin the Beguine**

by Rummi

* * *

**  
Beguine** – n. _a dance which reached the height of its popularity during the early twentieth century of Earth-That-Was, and originated from the Eastern Caribbean sector of the planet. It involved a slow, gradual, close movement between two partners, and has been compared by Earth-That-Was historians to the ancient rumba, which has often been dubbed the "love dance". . ._

-- Universal Encyclopedia, 2512 ed. Excerpt

* * *

Chapter 1 – Movement the First

Hoban Washburne was no coward, and he resented the insinuation, thank you very much. Couldn't be a pilot in this 'verse and be a coward. Couldn't, especially, sit at the helm of the ship he'd currently been hired to steer and be a coward. That, in itself, was an exercise in daring.

Not that _Serenity_ was a flying pile of _feiwu_; she wasn't. In fact, she was actually a right fine vessel, once a man got familiar with her inner workings and knew just how to coax her. Not since flight school had Wash met a metal lady whose sentiments he couldn't nudge his way. True, sometimes it seemed she was held together by nothing more than paperclips and the brilliant ingenuity of the pint-sized mechanic, but Wash could tell by the smooth way _Serenity_ handled that she approved of little Kaylee's tinkerings. And so he did as well.

Most people would be surprised by the maneuverability a good pilot could get out of a Firefly-class transport; most people would not be brave enough to even try. Cowards certainly wouldn't. And Hoban Washburne was no coward.

Sure, he was less inclined to go charging into a situation, guns blazing, like some other members of the rather colorful crew he'd found himself partnered with over the last several months, but that didn't make him spineless. If anything, Wash sometimes wondered if he was the only voice of reason on the entire ship: The captain was sometimes a bit overeager to make good on certain jobs so long as it brought some coin onboard; little Kaylee, although sweet and good-natured, had a incurable sense of hero-worship for the man; Jayne, the merc, . . . well, he was just plain crazy . . . .

No, Wash was merely cautious. There was a big difference between caution and cowardice. He'd gotten accustomed to the fact that one often had to embrace a life of crime to get by on this ship, but that didn't mean that one had to be plain stupid about it. And walking into a situation that stood a real good chance of getting them all immediately pinched was just plain stupid.

Wash cast his gaze to the ceiling and prepared to do yet another thing that no cowardly man would dare – something even Jayne avoided on most days: He resumed his argument with the captain.

"Did you just roll your eyes at me?" Mal asked, his previous tirade turning into disbelieving spluttering. "Did he just roll his eyes at me?" Malcolm Reynolds turned to his first mate, at his elbow as always.

"I believe he succumbed to some sort of facial tic, yes, sir."

Zoë Alleyne. If ever Wash had to admit to being afeared of something or someone, her name would probably be somewhere on that list.

It wasn't that she was necessarily scary, but she was cold, she was severe, and she was beautiful. Plus, Wash guessed that somewhere along the line she had probably lost count of just how many men she had killed – probably without even having to try very hard.

And she was beautiful.

Normally, in Wash's presence, Zoë would just cross her arms and strike an irritated stance, shifting most of her weight onto one of her very long, very well-formed legs. It had been that way ever since he came onboard: She'd stare him down with that same stony expression – the kind that made his insides squirm and his pulse race and—

Did he mention that the woman was gorram beautiful?

And, yeah, maybe just a little scary.

Since Wash had signed on as _Serenity_'s pilot, however, that same stony, disapproving expression that enthralled him also made him feel as though he was constantly doing something wrong. He had made it his mission, therefore, to get a genuine smile out of her. Just a small one to start; he was afraid that if he aimed for a hearty belly-laugh right off the bat, funny-man or not, he was just setting himself up for failure. But _Serenity_'s pilot was nothing if not intrigued by a challenge. It was one way to keep himself occupied during the countless hours they spent in the black. Plus, Wash imagined Zoë would look positively breathtaking when she smiled.

He had learned early on that needling other members of the crew, especially the captain, was not the best way to go about earning said smile, but sometimes he couldn't seem to help himself.

Besides, this particular occasion genuinely required someone to play devil's advocate.

Wash cast an earnest, boyish look at the two individuals looming above his chair. "No, _sir_," he said, attempting to smooth over the captain's blustering by emphasizing Mal's title. "No eye-rolling."

"Then I see no problem," Mal replied. Some of his hostility evaporated into matter-of-factness. "We need this job. I say we're going, so we go."

As usual, no argument came from Zoë, so Wash took it upon himself to be contrary. "Mal," he said gently, resting an imploring hand, palm-up, on the arm of his chair, "I realize we need the money but—"

"You hit the nail on the head, Wash," Mal interrupted, spreading his hands open as though to display Wash's comment as a point for his own side. "We need coin. No amount of 'buts' is going to make that any less true. We got a wave about a job – and a fairly lucrative one at that. We're taking it."

"Never mind it's on a planet that has a warrant out for your arrest," Wash countered dryly.

Mal stared gruffly at Wash. "You keep bringing that up," he said. "And, granted, it's a hurdle, but it also don't make our need for payment any less dire. The sum this Elisha Thornton is willing to pay—"

"Can keep us in the sky for months," Wash parroted. "Yes, you've said." He stood up and pointed to one of the secondary monitors on _Serenity_'s main console. "But I was doing the advanced stat-check for our approach to New Xian, and I came across this on the Cortex." He pointed to a fuzzy, outdated photo that bore the name _Reynolds, Malcolm_ on an official local arrest warrant. "They've got you for trespass, larceny, false pretenses, assault, smuggling deadly weapons . . ."

"Deadly? Those were practically antiques! Wouldn't hold a cartridge if the chamber was welded shut, much less fire, " Mal protested. Then he turned to Zoë. "I still say if those _hun dans_ at that munitions outpost had been a little more cooperative . . ."

"Probably didn't help that that the local law also trafficked there on a regular basis, sir," Zoë added dryly.

"Didn't know that at the time," Mal countered, a touch of genuine innocence in his voice. "Badger was less than forthcoming. We just had ruttin' bad timing."

"Still," Wash interjected, "we're taking a big gamble if you set foot on that planet, captain. According to this, it's only gone as far as the local law, and they haven't positively tied you to a particular ship yet, or to any other accomplices." He spared a quick glance for Zoë. "But if you get ID'd down there, and they link you to _Serenity_, this warrant will go broadwave. We're talking Alliance involvement, sir, and the significant chance that we'll _all_ be humped as a result. I'm just of the mind that we should think about whether we want to risk—"

"You're the pilot," Mal broke in, his voice suddenly quiet and hostile. It sent a chill through Wash to hear. "And a damn good one; I got no dispute. But I hired you for one thing: to fly this boat. Shiny?"

Too taken aback by the razor-edge in the captain's voice, Wash said nothing.

"The minute I can't pay you for your services, you can opine all you want," Mal continued. "Which is likely to be sooner rather than later, we don't get this job. In the meantime, you keep your thoughts to yourself and do your job, _dong ma_?"

Wash was about to respond with a biting, less-than-respectful '_Aye-aye, captain_,' when Zoë entered the conversation. "What, exactly, do we know about this Thornton, sir?" she asked, cool and businesslike.

Wash blinked. He was surprised by her sudden change of subject. For a moment, he chose to believe she had done it to save him from incurring Mal's wrath, had he ended the argument on the insolent note he'd been planning. More likely, however, she was simply tired of listening to the two of them.

Mal turned to his first mate, his anger almost instantly dissipating. If Wash had asked that very question, Mal probably would have thrown him over the console onto the deck below, but because it was Zoë . . .

Maybe the good captain found her just a little scary as well.

"Not much, aside from what I garnered from Badger before we left Persephone," Mal replied. "High-class aristocratic type. Has himself a reputation to uphold, as well as some cargo he wants to keep hush-hush. He's looking for discretion, and he's willing to pay a shiny sum for it."

"Any particular reason he wants to meet his would-be smuggler in the middle of a fancy party at his own home?" Zoë pressed. Wash could tell, regardless of her unyielding support of the captain, she had her own suspicions.

"Discretion," Mal reiterated. "If an upper-crust dandy is spotted in the shady sections of the local docks, society talks. Man greets guests at his own party–" He shrugged. "–nothing unusual about that. And the only juicy gossip society-at-large gets out of it is who is wearing clothes from last season."

Zoë nodded. Wash swore she seemed unconvinced, almost like a flickering crack in her compliant exterior, but she didn't say any more on the topic.

So Wash took the opportunity to do so. "I still say that if your name gets circulated around that party somehow, society is going to have a bit more to chew on than last year's fashions."

Mal turned to glare at the pilot. "And I still say, you stick to your job; let me worry about mine." He turned and marched toward the bridge door, barking one final order over his shoulder as he went. "Hold course for New Xian."

"Yes, sir," Wash muttered as he sank back down into his seat. His brain was buzzing with frustration. There had to be other jobs they could do – ones that may not be as profitable, true, but also ones that didn't run the risk of introducing them all to the inside of an Alliance prison. How he had gotten himself hired to the crew of a man who didn't listen to good sense when it was practically boxing him in the ears, Wash had no idea.

Well, that wasn't _entirely_ true.

Wash released the autopilot and unlocked the controls, swiveling them into an upright position. _Serenity_ really was a fine vessel. Having the chance to operate her was reason enough.

And, of course, there was the other reason.

Wash turned when he felt a presence lingering at his back. He'd forgotten that Zoë had not followed Mal off the bridge.

She stared down at him – still with that stony, disapproving expression Wash had come to know so well, but there was something else now too: There was a hint of the same frustration that Wash was feeling behind her eyes; it was subtle, but it was there.

"We need the money," she said. "No denying that."

He nodded. For some reason, all the blustering that the captain was able to dish out couldn't make Wash feel as guilty as a quiet scolding from Zoë. "I know," he replied.

Zoë stared out the cockpit window for a few moments, then turned back to Wash. "I'll talk to him, all right?" she said. "In the meantime, hold course and keep your bullheaded thoughts to yourself."

She turned and walked swiftly out, her boots tapping a rhythmic staccato on the metal grating of the fore passage as she left. Wash felt a small smile tug at one corner of his mouth. It wasn't every day that Zoë disagreed with the captain. It was rarer still that she would take Wash's side when he and Mal butted heads over a prospective destination. The notion caused his grin to spread. It was still his goal to make _her_ smile, but the other way around felt pretty gorram good too.

Wash snapped back to reality when the sequence alarm began to sound, warning him that he had been drifting. He instantly remembered that he was no longer on autopilot and spun back to the controls, guiding the ship back on course to New Xian.

* * *

The next morning, Wash detoured toward the galley before heading to the bridge. They were still another day and a half from New Xian, but, barring any unforeseen delays, _Serenity_ would reach atmo with plenty of time to spare. Most days, Wash checked the heading before going to the dining area to get himself some coffee. This morning, because he was still feeling slightly annoyed and spiteful, he worked in reverse. 

_Touché, Captain Blowhard. Take that!_

As he entered the galley, Wash noticed that most of the crew was already there, going about their morning routine, and trying to act as though they were not listening to the discussion currently being held between Mal and Zoë in the attached common area. From the sound of it, they'd been at it for quite a while.

"I don't get it," Mal said exasperatedly. "You sayin' I should turn it down? Is that it? You know we're very nearly running on empty out here, Zoë. And we're losing most of what we _do_ have on the burn to New Xian alone." Mal made a futile attempt to keep his voice low, even though his words didn't have far to travel to reach curious ears.

Wash turned his back to them and casually rummaged through the cupboards for a mug, all the while keeping his ears pricked to the conversation. When he found a cup he picked up the pot of coffee. It looked as though only the dregs were left and it smelled like tar – which meant that Jayne had probably brewed this morning – but it was better than nothing, so Wash emptied the remains into his mug and took a sip.

_Yep, definitely Jayne's._ His nose wrinkled automatically.

"I don't disagree, sir," Zoë replied. Her manner was calm and rational. "The offer's too good to outright refuse. I only suggested that you let someone else handle the run."

"And I said it ain't happening," Mal countered. "So why are we still having this conversation?"

"Because it may be the only way to ensure that we actually _get_ the job," Zoë said. "You said yourself that Thornton is looking for discretion. Meaning no disrespect, captain, but how willing do you think he'll be to hand over his cargo when he learns his new employee has got a rather conspicuous profile with the local law enforcement?"

Mal was reluctantly quiet at that. Wash could tell he wanted to say something, but that he couldn't argue with Zoë's simple logic. He placed his hands on his hips and shook his head. "What, exactly, do you suggest?"

"Thornton sent word out for _us_," Zoë replied. "Along with an open invite to his party tomorrow night. Which means he'll be expecting us to send representation. There'll be straightforward contact, minor negotiation and minimum hassle. We might want to think about sending someone who'd blend a bit better into that type of setting."

Mal blinked incredulously at her. "If you're suggesting Inara, the answer is no."

"She's a companion, sir. She'd know how to handle herself; they're her kind of folk."

"I said _no_," Mal insisted. "For one: our business has nothing to do with her. No need to sully her good name by directly involving her in a smuggling negotiation – especially if that negotiation is with, as you said, _her kind_. Word gets around in high society; it could come back to haunt her, and I won't have that."

"Sir, I just think—"

"And secondly," Mal interrupted, "fancy parties ain't exactly the kinds of functions a high-class whore would attend alone."

"Hey!" groused Kaylee, breaking the façade of 'not listening' the other crew members had attempted to convey.

Mal shot them a stern look. Kaylee, Wash and Jayne immediately turned back to what they had been doing.

Heaving a heavy sigh, Zoë addressed Mal again. "I wasn't suggesting Inara go in alone," she said. "Or anyone, for that matter."

"Well, we're at a bit of a loss in terms of escorts, Zoë," Mal countered. "We've already ruled out myself as a possibility, seeing as how you seem convinced I should keep my distance from this very worthwhile job. And I know you can't mean Jayne, because that would just put an end to negotiations right fast."

As if to solidify Mal's point, Jayne chose that exact moment to noisily spit-shine his favorite knife.

Mal shook his head, his eyes rolling toward the ceiling.

"Sir," Zoë said, "shouldn't we at least ask her? She might be willing to help."

"The decision's made," Mal replied definitively. "Our arrangement with Inara is a mutually beneficial one. All that ends the moment we start dragging her into our business. I have no intention of doing that." He pointed his finger at his first mate. "There's only one way to go about this: If there's negotiating to be done and I can't be there, it's got to be you."

Wash swore he could see Zoë's eyes widen from across the room. For the first time since he met her, she looked genuinely stunned. "Me, sir?" she asked Mal. "You're not serious."

"As serious as I get," Mal answered. "Can't trust no one else to take point on this one if we want things to go right. We need this job." He moved past her and began walking toward the main room of the kitchen.

"I-I realize that, sir," Zoë stammered, quite uncharacteristically. She stepped quickly to intercept Mal and positioned herself in front of his path. "I do. But I'd be lying if I said I was completely comfortable with this."

Wash found himself unconsciously moving out of the pantry area of the galley, listening more intently to the conversation between the captain and the first mate. If he'd taken the time to look around him, he would have noticed that the other members of the crew were doing the same. Everyone's attention was securely fastened to Mal and Zoë.

"Faced plenty of uncomfortable situations before," Mal reminded her. "This one won't be much different."

"I'd say there's a world of different, sir," Zoë maintained. "Bit more ornate than I'm used to, for starters."

"Isn't nothing I wouldn't have had to do in your place," Mal asserted. "You were the one who insisted that someone else take this run. And while I grudgingly admit you have a decent point, the fact remains that someone has to go or we lose this job. I'm sorry if that someone has to be you. But don't worry; you won't have to go in alone."

"Sir . . . ," Zoë began, though she tapered off in an oddly defeated manner. It sounded alien coming from someone who normally exuded such utter confidence. "A fancy party?" she added. "I got nothing against dressing up, captain, but it don't leave me many places to put my gun."

"I'd help you find a spot," Jayne interjected from the kitchen table, smirking lewdly over his knife.

Zoë glared over her shoulder with a disgusted look, then turned back to Mal, who couldn't stifle a grin.

"If all goes as smoothly as it should, you won't need one," he answered.

"Ain't no way _he's_ coming with me," she said, jamming her thumb back in Jayne's direction. "I'd sooner you dressed a gorram monkey in a tux for my escort."

Mal pursed his lips for a moment, then his eyes met Wash's directly over Zoë's shoulder. "Done," he said.

"What?" Wash blurted. His mug of coffee nearly slipped from his fingers.

Kaylee gasped audibly in delight.

"You heard me, Wash," Mal announced. "Seeing as how this whole predicament is your fault, you get to fix it by escorting my negotiator to the job."

"But . . . ," Wash spluttered. "But I . . . . _Gaoyang zhong de guying_, Mal! How did I end up getting blamed for this? If I recall, I was the one saying we shouldn't even go in the first place!"

"Exactly," Mal said as he stepped past Zoë to stand toe-to-toe with Wash. "And for a job that _should_ have been fairly cut-and-dry from the start, things have gotten a hell of a lot more complicated than they need to be. Besides, given the choices, you seem to be the only man for the job. Am I wrong?"

"No, sir, but—"

"Then it's settled," Mal announced, stepping past Wash toward the galley door. "You said we'll reach New Xian by tomorrow afternoon, local time?"

"Yeah," Wash replied. He spun to face Mal as the captain retreated from the room.

"Perfect. That will leave us just enough time to make the two of you presentable for tomorrow evening's festivities. And, Wash?"

"Yeah, Mal?"

"We lose this job, I'm taking the pound of flesh out of your next cut."

Wash stared wide-eyed at the empty doorway that the captain had left behind. In that moment he absolutely _knew_ he didn't want to turn around. Jayne was snickering from the table, and Kaylee was acting completely overjoyed, but there was one other crew member in the galley whose stony silence echoed far more loudly than any of the other goings-on.

Reluctantly, Wash turned to face her.

Zoë looked back at him with such abject irritation, Wash wondered why he hadn't turned to run away yet. After a moment, she strode toward him, her icy eyes locked on his the entire way.

"Just let me know when we're close." It was all she said to him before she, too, left the room.

Wash had the sinking feeling he'd just gone at least two steps back in terms of earning that smile.

To be continued . . .

* * *

Mandarin translations:

_feiwu_ – garbage, junk  
_hun dan_ – bastard  
_dong ma_ – understand  
_gaoyang zhong de guyang_ – motherless goats of all motherless goats


	2. Movement the Second

**Disclaimer:** All standard disclaimers apply. I don't own the 'verse, just the story. Hope it's enjoyed!

**Rating:** PG-13

* * *

**Begin the Beguine**

by Rummi

**

* * *

Chapter 2 – Movement the Second**

Wash didn't see much of Zoë until they reached their destination. However, if the truth be known, he was probably avoiding her just as much as she was avoiding him. Initially, Wash thought he had been doing the right thing by warning Mal about the potential problems this job would cause; now he wasn't so sure. If he'd just kept his big mouth shut, by the night's end they might have all been enjoying the comforts of one of the finer New Xianian jail cells, enjoying three squares a day and the paranoid merriment of the group shower. In comparison, all that sounded pretty damn shiny.

The wrench he'd inadvertently thrown into the original plan had instead managed to irritate both the captain and the first mate. It had also earned Wash a role in the very job he had hoped to avoid in the first place. He thought it best to stay out of Zoë's way for as long as possible if he didn't want a black eye to match. It wouldn't do to show up mangled at a fancy party, after all.

At least there were a few people onboard who were unquestionably happy to reach their destination. Inara, for one, was able to dip into a lucrative client base on New Xian which, while not a core planet, offered a substantially higher-class clientele than the places they'd visited lately. She even went out of her way to express her gratitude to Wash – especially after learning what had transpired in the galley on the morning prior. Ever the ambassador, Inara also made an attempt to smooth over the tension that had developed among some members of the crew: she offered to replace Zoë as Mal's representative at Thornton's party. Mal adamantly refused.

Kaylee was thrilled to reach the planet, of course. She was always happy to see anywhere new.

And Jayne . . . well, he probably didn't care one way or the other.

By the time _Serenity _landed on New Xian, it was approximately 11:30 in the morning, local time. They touched down at the Greendorne Docks just outside the capital city of Artemis, and settled in for a layover that would last, at least, until the next morning.

Soon after docking, a small group prepared to disembark and head into the city to pick up some basic supplies, as well as some special items that would be required for the meet-and-greet with Thornton in a few hours. At this point, Wash knew it would be decidedly more difficult to avoid Zoë – especially since the next place he found himself was on the uncomfortably close quarters of the mule, making his way through the bustling city streets with an irritated warrior woman at his back.

Wash slowed the mule as several well-dressed pedestrians funneled casually along the roadway. "So where are we headed first?" he asked as he waited for the path to clear.

"Need to find a spot that will sell a nice dress cheap," Zoë answered. "Don't want to go so fancy that we spend our take before we make it, but can't look so dowdy as to seem out of place."

The fact that the woman could probably make wearing a protein crate look appealing wasn't lost on Wash, though he was smart enough to keep that particular thought to himself. Instead he said, "We could maybe save a little cash if you borrowed something from Inara."

Zoë gave him a lopsided look that Wash swore actually bordered on amusement. "I think they'd be a mite short on me, don't you, pilot?"

Wash was a bit surprised; Zoë didn't seem as irritated as he'd imagined she'd be. He was certainly glad of that, and wondered if a joke or two at this juncture would be pushing it. He shrugged, looking wistful. "Oh, for the wisdom to be up to date on women's fashions."

"Besides," Zoë added, "too much form and not a lot of function."

"Doesn't functionality sort of defeat the purpose of getting all dressed up?"

"We're not just getting gussied up for a night on the town, pilot," Zoë said. "We have a job to do."

"Work, work, work," Wash playfully droned as he jolted the mule back into motion.

"Speakin' of work," a voice called from the rear of the vehicle, "don't forget we need to pick up a thermalizer while we're here." Kaylee sat perched on the rear of the mule, her legs swinging over the side.

"Check," Wash called over his shoulder.

"We got enough for that?" Zoë asked.

"Shouldn't be no problem," Kaylee answered. "Not if you know how to haggle 'em down to what they're really worth. And it's cheaper than buying a whole new glycol channel for the compression coil. Although," she added, "we don't get a new one of those eventually, we'll be overheatin' before too long."

"Seems like a lot of things are hinging on us getting paid for this job," Wash said to Zoë.

"Seems like," she replied.

"Look, Zoë," he began, "I'm sorry if I caused a problem. I honestly thought warning Mal about the warrant was a good thing, but I certainly didn't mean—"

"Don't dwell on it, Washburne," she interrupted. "It's nothing that wouldn't have happened anyway. Even if the captain were going to Thornton's shindig, it stands to reason I'd still have to be there to back him. No real harm done. You just let me handle all the talking, and don't go flashing that caterpillar on your lip to too many of the fancies. We'll do just fine."

"Huh?" Wash asked. The mule swerved a bit as he turned his head reflexively to face her. "Flashing my what now?"

"Stop here," Zoë cut in, ignoring his outburst.

"Wait—what?" Wash persisted.

"Here, pilot, stop the mule."

Wash was pushed toward the vehicle's handles when Zoë's body suddenly pressed hard against his back. She stretched out one of her long legs and applied her foot to the brake, jolting the mule to a stop. Wash was a mite speechless as he felt her unwrap herself from behind him and swing her leg over the seat in a smooth dismount.

"Back seat driver!" he eventually managed.

"Ooh," Kaylee gasped and Wash looked up to see where they had stopped.

There was a small dress shop across the street. It looked fairly modest for a city the size of Artemis, where the ladies seemed to get dressed up just to be seen walking about, but it didn't look completely undistinguished either. It must have been doing a fair business since the proprietor could afford to hire live girls to model in the front windows, rather than the lifeless antique mannequins some of the lower-class places needed to resort to.

Kaylee had slid off the rear of the mule and was staring with starry-eyed longing at the shop. "Oh, Zoë, they're so pretty! You're so lucky: Afternoon of shopping, a fancy party to look forward to . . . " She sighed. "They all look _so_ glamorous, don't they?"

Then Zoë did something that would have caused Wash's head to spin, had it not been for its auspiciously firm attachment to his neck: She looked down at Kaylee and gave the girl the biggest, most radiant smile he had ever seen.

She was every bit as breathtaking as he imagined she'd be – and then some. Her entire face lit up and her eyes practically sparkled in the early afternoon sun. Those gorgeous lips, which Wash was certain had captivated many a red-blooded male, perfectly framed her flawless teeth. And her dimples . . . _Wo de ma he ta de fengkuang de waisheng dou, _the woman had _dimples_!

Wash couldn't help but feel some tiny – bordering on gargantuan – twinge of jealousy for the young mechanic and whatever she had done to endear herself to _Serenity_'s first mate.

_Well, Kaylee's sweet_, a little voice reminded him.

_I can be sweet!_ Wash's brain argued back. _Has she not noticed the toy dinosaurs, or my boyish penchant for colorful shirts? Since when have I exuded anything besides sweet?_

So many thoughts were racing through his head all at once, that Wash almost didn't notice how wide his eyes had gotten or that his mouth was hanging open so much a local insect colony could have easily taken up residence. He managed to clamp it shut with an audible _pop_, but continued to stare – probably looking just as captivated as little Kaylee had been of the dress shop windows.

"_Laotian_ _fu_," he whispered.

"Something about it all being part of the job takes a little of the fun out, I suppose," Zoë answered Kaylee. She then turned to Wash and her wide smile melted into an expression that was equal parts amusement and confusion. "You alright there, Washburne?"

Wash snapped out of it very quickly at that. "Fine," he said abruptly, blinking his dried eyes rapidly. "I just realized I don't have the first clue where to look for the proper attire. Haven't needed to wear anything so formal since graduation from flight school."

"Well," Zoë nodded with a somewhat skeptical tone in her voice, as though his cover story left much to be desired, "just don't hurt yourself thinking about it."

"You need any help, Zoë?" Kaylee asked, and Wash was grateful that Zoë's attention was diverted elsewhere. "I love shoppin', and I never been in a fancy place like that."

Zoë smiled again, softer now, but just as stunning. This time Wash tried to appear as though he was busying himself with the mule's controls.

"I'd love the company Kaylee," she said. "But we're on a timetable if we want to get everything ready by tonight. I'm going to try to go as fast as possible, and you said you needed to pick up that thermalizer. Besides," she added as she cast a scrutinizing look in Wash's direction, "sounds like our pilot could use a bit more help than I do."

Wash emitted an embarrassed chuckle.

Kaylee grinned so wide her shoulders practically wrapped around her ears. "I can't wait to see you both all fancied up!" she said. "What I wouldn't give to get to go to a real glamorous party like that."

Zoë turned to Wash, all-business once again. "Pick me up here on your way back," she said. "And don't be long; we're on the clock."

"Gotcha," he replied as he felt Kaylee slide onto the mule's seat behind him. They began driving through the city again, and Zoë was quickly swallowed by the crowd.

* * *

"You know how to tie one of these things?" 

Wash craned his head over the drape that served as the changing room door in the most moderately-priced men's formalwear store they could find. His fingers were tangled up in the silky ascot that went with the formal evening clothes he was currently trying on.

"Sorry," Kaylee replied from the worn cushioned bench just outside the dressing area. "Back on Paquin we don't get much occasion for dressy parties. None of my brothers have ever worn anything beyond Sunday trousers for barn dances and such." She absently turned the new thermalizer over and over in her fingers as she spoke. "Thought you said you'd gotten dressed up before, Wash," she added curiously.

"I have," Wash replied, ducking his head back behind the curtain. "Last time I actually _needed_ to was at graduation, but in flight school we used to have dances all the time. Socials, we called them – always formal. But I never had to wear anything like _this_." He shook the offending piece of silk in his fist. "Excuse me!" he called to the proprietor, sticking his head back out again. "You wouldn't happen to have a more traditional neckpiece to go with this, would you? Something actually shaped like a _bow_?"

"That's as traditional as they come around here, son," the man answered from behind the front counter. "Unless you want something with clips – and those only come tyke-sized."

"Does it maybe come with instructions?" Wash asked, only half-kidding.

The man gruffly left his post and walked over to the corner that served as the fitting area. "You decent?" he asked as he reached the curtain.

"Except for the unsightly mess I seem to have made around my throat region," Wash answered. The man tossed the curtain aside and stepped in.

"Been a while since I've worn anything so stiff," Wash commented offhandedly to Kaylee as the shop owner adjusted the ascot beneath the highly starched collar. "There's a reason most pilots prefer those baggy flight suits: I'd get a cramp if I had to hold myself this straight for hours. Some of the guys I graduated with took jobs piloting those high-class core planet transports. They have to wear formal uniforms every shift. I definitely feel for them."

"Not sure if I'll even recognize you, what with how spiffy you're gonna look!" Kaylee replied.

"There," the proprietor said as he finished. He tossed the curtain aside again and stepped out. Wash followed and headed for the mirror. As he caught sight of Kaylee's reflection behind him, he swore her beaming smile could have nearly blinded him.

"Shiny! You look real handsome, Wash," she gushed. "I had no idea you cleaned up so good."

"You two lookin' to get hitched quick?" the proprietor called from behind the counter once more. "I got a shepherd in the family: my oldest brother. I might be convinced to knock a couple credits off the bill if you see him about the ceremony."

Wash actually spared a moment to consider how he might get the discount without actually going to see the shepherd. (He _was _a lying, thieving smuggler now, right?) Kaylee, however, piped up immediately. "Oh, Wash and me aren't together," she said, giggling.

Wash looked at her with a raised eyebrow. "You don't have to sound like it's _that_ funny of a notion," he grumbled teasingly. He turned back to the mirror, examining the ascot and trying to determine a method of recreating it later.

Kaylee shrugged and sauntered up to him from behind. "S'nothing personal, Wash," she said. "You're a plum catch, and if things were different I'd be crazy not to snatch you right up. It's just that anyone with two good eyes and half a brain can see that you're sweet on Zoë."

Wash froze, staring into the eyes of her reflection in the mirror. She didn't seem the least bit fazed by his gobsmacked expression. He tried to think of a clever retort, but due to the fact that his brain had been rendered useless, all he could manage was, "Huh?"

Kaylee swept her hand through the air, as though brushing aside his weak attempt at denial. "Oh, come on, Wash. It's not like it ain't obvious."

"Is it?" Wash chuckled when he finally found his voice. "And here I thought I was acting all manly and aloof." He gave the front of the jacket a sharp tug to smooth out the lines and straightened proudly, as though he was about to face a firing squad. "Who else knows?"

Kaylee smiled. "It may have come up once or twice 'tween me and Inara," she answered innocently, but with a hint of mischief. "And even then it was just speculation . . . 'til now." She glanced down to contemplate the thermalizer in her hands. "And maybe an innocent wager."

Wash's eyebrows went up. "Is that a fact?" he asked.

Kaylee shrugged, still smiling.

"In that case, put me down too: Three platinum for the other side of never. That'll teach you to corrupt the only honest businesswoman on the ship, Kaylee." Considering the matter closed, Wash turned to the side and looked in the mirror to make sure the jacket was lying correctly in the back.

"Come on, Wash," Kaylee coaxed. "You sayin' you ain't sweet on Zoë?"

"I'm saying that if the woman even suspected as much I'd be lucky to come out of it with all my limbs intact," he replied matter-of-factly.

"Pssh," Kaylee laughed, her lips fluttering amusedly. "Zoë ain't the _xiongcan shashou_ you make her out to sound. She's actually real nice. She probably just needs the right guy to sweep her off her feet. An evening of dancing could be the perfect opportunity." She nudged Wash from behind with her shoulder and a suggestive wiggle of her eyebrows. Then her face sobered suddenly. "Do you know how to dance?"

"Oh, sure," Wash answered casually. "With steps and everything. I'm just not so sure my idea of dancing would be the kind that's usually done at those high-class parties."

"Mine neither," Kaylee replied regretfully. "I sure wouldn't mind learning, though. I'd love to be able to fit in at a party like that. Even just once."

"It can't be that hard," Wash assured her. "Just a bunch of slow rhythmic posing to show off the fancy costumes. I'm sure you'd catch on pretty quick. I'm hoping I will." He took one last glance at himself, then turned to the proprietor. "I guess I'll take it."

The man nodded and pulled a large box from beneath the counter.

Kaylee reached over and pinched Wash in the arm.

"Ow!" he exclaimed. "Watch it! This probably wrinkles!"

"Don't think I didn't notice you changing the subject either!" Kaylee argued back good-naturedly as Wash slid his arms out of the jacket sleeves.

"And what subject was that?"

Kaylee rolled her eyes. "You? Zoë? A glamorous, romantic evening – just like the ones Inara has all the time?"

"Except with more smuggling negotiations, and less sex."

"Not if you play your cards right, flyboy." Kaylee winked conspiratorially.

Wash looked at her for a moment, then patted her head affectionately. "Oh, to be so innocent again."

"You just have to get her attention, is all," Kaylee insisted. "Seein' you all gussied up and out of your element could do the trick. Or maybe you could try shaving off that _dong gua_ mustache."

Wash's eyes widened. "What? Shave my _what_?"

"I'm just sayin'," Kaylee said. "Sometimes just that little push—"

"Yeah, but my moustache?" he said with a bit of a childish whine, stroking his fingers over it protectively. "Everybody had one in flight school. It's a tradition! A rite of passage! An _art_ _form_, even." He paused and sobered. "You think Zoë doesn't like my moustache?"

"Didn't say that," Kaylee replied reassuringly. "Just giving a suggestion is all; something to make her look twice." She smiled brightly and Wash gave a light chuckle.

"I don't know," he said. "Manly and aloof seemed to be working so well." He began to remove the ascot, then paused, looking over at the shop's proprietor. "Is there any way to get this off without untying it?"

* * *

Wash did a last minute check in the cloudy mirror hanging above the sink in his quarters. He still wasn't quite sure he'd gotten the hang of the neckpiece, but at least this time it didn't look as though a four-year-old – or Jayne – had tied it. Deciding it was probably as good as it was going to get, he tacked it in place with a small, round pin and stepped back from the mirror. He smoothed his hands down the front of the jacket, then took the ladder out of his bunk. 

Wash had purposely gotten ready early. He had hoped to be the first to arrive in the cargo bay so he could duck right into Shuttle II to prep the ignition sequence. That way he could keep well out of sight and avoid making a spectacle of himself. He should have realized that expecting Zoë to be anything besides early, herself, was overly optimistic. Thinking the woman might be fashionably late was probably bordering on out-and-out lunacy. What Wash hadn't expected was to have a waiting audience the moment he emerged from the fore passageway stairwell.

Five sets of eyes turned to meet his as Wash stepped onto the cargo bay catwalk.

Kaylee gasped in delight while Jayne snickered loutishly. Mal only spared him a momentary glance, as though he was simply keeping a mental tally of what still needed to be done prior to the job. Inara was smiling warmly. However, for the life of him, and totally against his better judgment, Wash couldn't prevent his eyes from fixing immediately upon Zoë.

Her manner was business-as-usual. When Wash had entered, Zoë looked as though she had been going over preparations with Mal, thoroughly absorbing the captain's orders for how to approach Thornton that evening. However, there was nothing standard about the way she looked.

Zoë was breathtaking – it was the only way Wash could even begin to describe it. She was wearing a very simple solid black gown – floor-length, and not nearly as opulent as the ones Wash had become so accustomed to seeing on Inara, but, on Zoë, it was every bit as stunning. What it lacked in ornamentation, the dress certainly made up for in how it draped over Zoë's figure: the V at her neck was just low enough to be teasingly modest; the basic black sash at the waist wrapped flatteringly around her middle, lying just above her hips with its long ends trailing behind; and in the front was a slightly more provocative slit – one that reached almost to the thigh and exposed a fair bit of those magnificent legs that Wash had always admired.

_God! The woman knew how to wear slink._

Wash was absolutely entranced and, for once, he didn't care if she caught him staring. If a sight like that was to be the last thing he'd ever see, then Wash could die a happy man.

After a few moments, he became vaguely aware of Zoë's eyes on him. She had stopped working when he entered, and was looking back at him with an odd combination of curiosity and surprise. She blinked, her eyes a little wider than normal. "You shaved."

That finally snapped Wash out of his hypnotized stupor. He averted his eyes and his hand immediately reached for his bare, too-smooth upper lip. He ran his fingers over it for what was probably the millionth time in the last half hour. It had a decidedly foreign feel; Wash wasn't sure he'd ever get used to it. "Yeah," he chuckled self-consciously. "Guess it seemed like the thing to do."

His eyes briefly caught sight of Kaylee's face. She was smiling meaningfully in his direction. "I think you look shiny, Wash," she said.

Wash's hand lingered on his upper lip for another moment. "Definitely feels shinier," he replied. He let his hand drop and tilted his head as though exhibiting his new look. "Is it gleaming? Do I gleam?"

Jayne snorted gruffly. "Little facial scruff makes the man," he said, rubbing his own chin. "Less'n a fella likes lookin' like a _yuán_ kid."

Mal shook his head. "Not sure if anyone attending this particular fandango is gonna be measuring their wealth in whiskers, Jayne."

"It can be a symbol of nobility in some circles," Inara offered.

"Which is exactly what we don't want," Mal replied. "No, Wash had the right idea: he and Zoë are going to want to stand out as little as possible. Thornton may have invited us, but we don't want others at that party speculating as to the potential lordhood of anyone on this crew. If you're right, Inara, we don't want any reason to make anyone look twice. We get the job; we get paid; we get out." He acknowledged Wash with a nod. "Good thinking."

Wash shrugged as though that had been his intention all along.

Zoë had still not said anything else, but continued to scrutinize him with an odd expression. Wash offered her a small smile, and began to step through the crowd toward the shuttle. "I guess I should get the ignition sequence prepped," he said.

Wash heard the others begin bustling around behind him as he stepped into Shuttle II and headed for the pilot's chair. Before he could sit down, he felt a presence at his back. Someone had followed him inside. Wash turned around to see Mal standing there.

"You're going to be all right with this," the captain said.

Wash immediately realized that it wasn't a question, but he answered it anyway. "Fine," he said. "All in a day's work, right?"

Mal smirked, looking more good-natured than he had the day before. "Don't worry about the negotiations. Zoë can handle that," he said. "You're just there to make our girl look respectable. And you will." Mal offered him a nod of reassurance. "I know I bluster," he said, "but only because the coin we get from this job is so important."

"I understand that, captain," Wash replied. "I was only—"

"Looking out for the best interest of this ship," Mal concluded. "Which, truth be told, _is_ exactly what I pay you for. But understand, I'm doing the same. Any good job is worth at least a little risk and, at the end of the day, it turns out you really are the best man for this one."

Wash smiled with a shrug. "Not to mention the _only_ man," he said. "Unless you change your mind about sending Jayne sometime within the next ten minutes."

"I do that, he probably wouldn't make it back alive." Mal broke off, looking wistful for a brief moment, then shook his head. "No, the fewer complications on this job, the better. We'll have to save that for another time."

Wash grinned and turned toward the controls to log in the ignition sequence. "Just a thought."

"It'll all be fine," Mal assured him again as he walked toward the shuttle's hatch. "You both just work together. Watch her back. Zoë'll watch yours – trust me."

To be continued . . .

* * *

Mandarin translations: 

_wo de ma he ta de fengkuang de waisheng dou_ – holy mother of God and all her wacky nephews

_laotian_ _fu_ – oh, Lord / oh, God

_xiongcan shashou_ – ass-kicking killer

_dong gua_ – fuzzy (literally 'a white fuzzy vegetable')

_yuán_ – young ('locust without wings')


	3. Movement the Third

**Disclaimer:** All standard disclaimers apply. I don't own the 'verse, just the story. Hope it's enjoyed!

**Rating:** PG-13

* * *

**Begin the Beguine**

by Rummi

* * *

**  
Chapter 3 – Movement the Third**

Dusk was settling over the capital city of Artemis as Shuttle II soared from where _Serenity_ was berthed at Greendorne to the private docks at Elisha Thornton's sprawling estate. Wash whistled loudly as the property came into view. The house looked like an ancient Earth-That-Was chateau – there were stone pillars and balconies at all angles, and the light from every window twinkled like stars brought to land. The grounds were perfectly groomed, and dotted with fountains, flowers and Chinese lanterns.

"Would you get a load of that!" Wash said. "This goes a mite beyond fancy, Zoë. _This_ is downright _swanky_." He bounced a little in his seat. "Wonder what kinds of extra perks you can swing out of that negotiation." He attempted to get Zoë's attention, turning to face her and waggling his eyebrows.

Zoë, however, continued to face forward. "Don't get too excited, pilot," she said. "Personally I'd rather not do any more business here than necessary."

"Right," Wash drawled a bit. "Because what sense would there be in enjoying an evening in the lap of luxury? As well as some of the benefits that come with being the messengers in this little venture?"

Zoë shot him a scornful look. "Men rich as Thornton tend to make their money one of two ways, Washburne: One is on the blood and sweat of hard-working, underpaid folks . . ."

"And the other?" Wash asked.

Zoë narrowed her glare. "War profiteer."

Wash's mouth fixed into a grim line. During his months on _Serenity_ he'd learned better than to ask about details whenever Zoë's or Mal's stories turned to the war.

"Well, there you go," he said, trying to be placating. "No harm in trying to get a little extra platinum out of the deal with the very well-to-do, apparently unscrupulous man. We _are_ valiant crooks who rob from the rich and take for ourselves, after all."

Zoë rolled her eyes a bit, but offered him a more patient look. "If all goes according to plan, we should be making plenty of coin on this job," she said. "No need to get greedy."

"Just a thought," Wash said. "Not like hanging around Thornton's veritable palace is going to be a hardship . . . so long as he's put together a decent buffet table." They traveled for the next few moments in silence, then Wash spoke up again. "Mind if I ask you something completely unrelated to the job?"

"Nothing personal, I hope," Zoë replied.

"Not overly," Wash said. "Why is it you're the only one onboard who doesn't call me Wash?"

Zoë looked at him again. Her expression was serious, as usual, but softer – almost puzzled. "Normally, I take to calling a man by his given name, Washburne. Either that or his title, _pilot_. Is there some offense you're taking to me addressing you as either one?"

"Oh, no," he responded. "It's not that – it's just that 'Wash' _is_ my name. 'Washburne' is just . . . a longer version."

"There a difference?"

"Just the fact that I don't really answer to the second," Wash said. "Haven't for a while. Back in flight school there was a guy named Welbourne – dumb as a post, made Jayne look like Confucius. Anyway, our teachers kept mixing the two of us up at first. Believe me, _that_ I took offense to. Having everyone just call me 'Wash' helped save my sanity . . . not to mention my grades."

Zoë gave a little huff of air which, if Wash didn't know any better, he would have sworn was the beginning of a laugh. "Fine," she said as she looked at him, "_Wash_."

Wash smiled and pulled the shuttle to the checkpoint near Thornton's private docks.

The image of a square-jawed security guard appeared on the shuttle's view screen. "Invitation, please," he prompted automatically. Wash took out their invitation, which had been printed from the wave Thornton had sent. He set it face-down onto the scanner, punched a few keys on the type-pad and hit 'send.' A few seconds later, the guard gave a polite nod. "Thank you, Mr. And Mrs. Asbach," he said. "A very pleasant evening to you."

As Wash guided the shuttle to the docking bay, Zoë gave him a look. With his eyes averted, he had a hard time determining whether she was amused or annoyed. "Mr. and Mrs.?" she asked.

Wash shrugged. "Just trying to stay inconspicuous," he said. "Something incognito that would fit in better at a fancy party." He looked at her, feeling a little more uncertain than usual under her scrutinizing gaze. "Sorry if it was presumptuous of me."

Zoë's eyes softened, as though she was dealing with a _zhuàng_ nitwit who didn't know any better. "It's a fine cover," she said. "Posing as a married couple will cut down on questions."

As they disembarked and took the path through the garden toward the main house, Zoë led the way. Wash caught up to her quickly outside the shuttle and walked at her side. He imagined that, as a cover story, it probably wouldn't be such a bad one.

* * *

As he and Zoë joined the end of the line leading to the main ballroom, Wash was struck with a single thought: _Nope. This isn't going to be anything like the socials at flight school._

For starters, some of these folks were so primly folded and buttoned and fastened into the many layers of their high-class attire, he seriously doubted there'd be any loosening of clothing by the end of the evening – no jackets draped over the chairs, no shoes kicked beneath the tables. What was more, if the symphonic music filtering out of the ballroom was any indication, the dancing probably wouldn't be of the sort to require such action. The notion kinda took some of the fun out of things.

When Wash and Zoë reached the front of the line, a pale young man stepped toward them and offered them a stiff, shallow bow. He straightened and gave his head a reflexive toss, slightly flipping his thick foppish hair from his brow. "Good evening, sir . . . madam," he said with a nod to each and a slightly priggish tone in his voice. "Invitation, please?"

Zoë passed him the card they had printed from Thornton's wave. Wash couldn't help but notice how calm she looked, just like always – no matter who she was dealing with. Out of her element or not, Zoë never failed to appear as though everything was going exactly according to plan.

The young man briefly scrutinized the invitation, then placed it into an ornate box on the table beside him. He offered Wash and Zoë another bored bow and turned to face the main ballroom.

"THE MISTER AND MISTRESS H. W. ASBACH."

He extended his hand to usher them into the party. Wash lifted his arm, and Zoë placed her hand on top of his. Together they entered the ballroom.

Prior to arrival, Wash had reminded himself over and over that it would probably be a bad idea to ogle the party, or the people attending, as though he'd never spent a minute among high society in his life. That reminder had become something of a mantra in his head as he and Zoë had trekked up the path between the shuttle docks and the main house. Nevertheless, Wash found himself staring around the ballroom, his mouth hanging open like it had dropped anchor.

He had never seen anything so opulent in his entire life. This room alone had to be more than three times the size of _Serenity_'s cargo bay, and the lofty ceiling at least twice as high. There were thick scarlet curtains framing the doorways of two separate balconies. Beneath those hung extra sets of diaphanous white drapes, veiling the high doors and blowing lightly in the warm breeze coming from the outside. A multitude of tables circled the periphery of the room, strategically placed around a grand wooden dance floor. The music Wash had heard from the hallway was being played by a live orchestra, located beneath an ornate proscenium arch at the far end of the room. The entire ballroom was brightly lit by numerous lavish electric sconces, and one enormous, very old-fashioned crystal chandelier in the center of the ceiling.

"Whoa," he breathed. His head nearly tipped all the way back against its own volition. "_Bù shàn_."

Wash felt a soft touch on the side of his face. His head was brought level again and his mouth was gently eased shut. Zoë quirked an eyebrow as she drew his face into direct alignment with hers. "Think you can refrain from catching flies until _after_ we've made contact with our highbrow employer, Wash?" she quietly whispered. She released him and turned to walk across the floor.

As his eyes followed her, Wash felt his mouth opening again. He snapped it shut so quickly his teeth clicked, then he hurried to catch up with her.

"Where'd you come up with the name, anyway?" Zoë asked as she smoothly lifted a flute of shimmerwine from the tray of one of the many circulating waiters. Once again, Wash was stricken by how natural she was able to act, regardless of the unfamiliar surroundings. He quickly attempted to follow her lead . . . and nearly overextended himself trying to reach for his own glass.

"Well, the 'H. W.' is obvious," Wash answered. "And the less complicated the fabrication, the easier to remember. I thought all professional criminals knew that."

"We do," Zoë replied wryly.

"As for 'Asbach'," Wash continued with a shrug. "Just another fella I knew in flight school. Somebody much better versed in duplicity than I am." He took a drink of his wine. "I figured the association would make it easier to remember."

Zoë nodded and her manner became all-business again. She scanned the room over the rim of her wine. Wash felt compelled to do the same; he raised his glass and tried to seem discreet as he peered around the ballroom. Trouble was: he had no idea what he was looking for.

"So which one is Thornton?" he asked under his breath, trying to keep his lips from moving too much.

Zoë regarded his attempt at espionage amusedly, then guided him toward a nearby table. She put her wine glass down; Wash followed suit. Zoë continued to scan the room as she explained. "The guests are almost finished arriving," she said. "It's likely the host will make as grand an entrance as possible once everyone is here."

"That seems logical," Wash replied with an animated nod. "Good thinking."

"It's what Inara said would most likely happen," Zoë admitted matter-of-factly. "She also said he'll probably have folks swarming around him for a good bit of the early evening – clambering for a bit of attention from the host. Once we ident Thornton, the best time to approach him will be when the herd thins a bit. If we make good on the discretion he's after, we'll make good on this job."

Wash and Zoë didn't have to wait long. Once all the guests had filed into the room and begun to casually socialize, the pale young man who had greeted them at the door made his way across the ballroom floor. As he reached the far end of the room, the orchestra faded into a decrescendo. Everyone in the crowd directed their attention to where he was now standing. Wash and Zoë picked up their drinks and moved a bit closer.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen," he announced. "It is with great pleasure that I introduce your host for this evening – Lord Elisha Thornton."

As the orchestra struck up a few dramatic chords, a man emerged from an entrance near the foot of the stage. He was a robust-looking gentleman who smiled amiably and waved as the crowd clapped politely. He walked to where the pale young man was standing and accepted a glass of shimmerwine from him. Thornton raised his glass, his red round face continuing to grin as he greeted his guests. Each member of the crowd reciprocated, holding their glasses aloft. Wash shot a quick glance at Zoë and saw that she was following along. He raised his glass as well.

"Welcome, my friends," Thornton said cordially to the crowd. "I cannot begin to express how pleased I am to see so many honored guests in attendance this evening. For some of us, it has been far too long. Please, enjoy yourselves, and if there is anything that you require, my footman Sutherland will see to your needs."

The pale young man offered the crowd a quick and stone-faced bow.

"I promise you," Thornton concluded, "this will be a night you will not soon forget!" He took a hefty drink of his wine, as did many others in the crowd. The orchestra began to play a lively song as Thornton stepped down from the stage and disappeared amongst his guests.

Wash and Zoë stood on the edge of the hardwood floor while several people began taking their positions for the first dance of the evening. Wash heard Zoë curse softly under her breath as she attempted to look over the crowd to catch sight of Thornton. When people began dancing around them, it became apparent that they were standing in a bad spot. Zoë made her way back to the tables on the periphery of the ballroom and Wash trailed behind her, all the while trying to catch a glimpse of their would-be employer.

They found a table that gave them fair visibility of the room. Zoë set her wine down and sat, scanning the crowd continuously with her eyes. Wash dropped into the chair beside her and looked around with far less practiced scrutiny. After a few seconds, he leaned in Zoë's direction. "Seems to me if Thornton was looking to hire a smuggler, he'd put forth an effort to make himself a little more visible," Wash said.

"He's also looking for discretion, Wash," Zoë reminded him. "He'll need to greet the folks he knows first."

"So in the meantime?" Wash asked.

"We wait," Zoë confirmed

An hour later, they were still waiting. Every so often Thornton would pop into view, laughing jovially with his surrounding acquaintances, then disappear again. Wash began to wonder if they would ever be able to catch the man without an entourage. Zoë seemed reluctant to move from their table, saying that it was as decent a hold-point as they were probably going to get, so Wash designated himself to go on nourishment runs. Since he couldn't put his piloting expertise to any use in here, and since it was clear Zoë didn't need him to help with surveillance, it seemed to be the only job he was suited for at the moment. He had just come back from his third trip to the buffet when he found Zoë drumming her fingers on the table. It was the first crack he'd seen in her cool exterior all night.

"Problem?" he asked, sitting down and popping a cube of cantaloupe into his mouth.

Zoë gave him a look that spoke of her frustration, but she didn't let any of that seep into her voice. "Too many blind spots," she said, indicating the numerous pillars that encircled the room. "Makes it harder to assess the whole area and keep an eye on Thornton at the same time." She rested her chin against her hand thoughtfully. "We shouldn't wait much longer to make contact."

"Don't want to seem all tardy and unreliable," Wash replied, chewing on another piece of fruit. He slid the plate over to Zoë. She looked from it up into his face, and he raised his eyebrows as an invitation for her to select what she liked. Zoë chose a slice of mango from the plate and gave him a nod of thanks, a small smile quirking a corner of her lips.

Encouraged by the slight gesture, Wash quickly picked up a napkin and wiped the residual stickiness of the fruit from his hands. "Okay," he said. "What's say we move somewhere else for a better look?"

Zoë shook her head. "Nearly every other table will give the same view as this, Wash," she said. "At least from here I can see the doors – in case we need an exit strategy."

Wash smirked. "Ooh, Mrs. Asbach, you know I love it when you talk tactics," he said dramatically. "But I actually had something else in mind." He rose from his chair and walked around to stand in front of Zoë. She was sitting sideways on her chair; both her exquisite legs were crossed and peeking out of the slit of her dress. Wash smiled and held out his hand.

Zoë eyed it as though it was a foreign object. Her focus shifted from his hand to his face and she raised her brow suspiciously.

"There's one spot in here where you can see the entire room," Wash said, his smile never fading.

"I know you think you're funny, pilot, but this isn't a joke," Zoë countered sternly. "We have a job to do here. This is hardly the time for flights of fancy."

"Oh, I understand that," Wash agreed. He sat quickly onto the chair beside her, scooping her hand into his as he did so. Zoë's eyebrows nearly shot into her hairline at that. "I'm all for being strictly professional," Wash continued, "but I'm not sure if you've noticed: while you've been staking out Thornton, we've developed a bit of a problem."

Zoë's brow furrowed. "What are you talking about?" Her eyes darted left and right before focusing back on Wash.

"Well, I don't know if you've seen yourself, Zoë," Wash said, "but you're rather easy on the eyes."

Zoë looked taken aback. She opened her mouth to speak, but, in the end, she only blinked at him.

"Strictly _professionally_ speaking, of course," Wash amended. "And while you've been focused on the more important issue of the job, as your escort, there are certain things that have not escaped my attention – such as the numerous male eyes that have been on you over the last hour." Wash's gaze slid to the right, and Zoë's followed discreetly. Sure enough, there was a small crowd of men stationed beside one of the pillars near the window. Their eyes frequently shifted to where Zoë was sitting and back again.

Zoë looked back at Wash, who laid his other hand on top of their joined ones. It was an obvious movement – intended to be seen by those men across the room.

"I know we're trying to be as inconspicuous as possible," Wash continued, "but it seems a few members of the male population can't help but be a little distracted."

Zoë rolled her eyes a little at the notion.

"Therein lies the problem," Wash said. "When a woman who looks like you shows up at a social event with a man who's supposed to be her husband, it may seem a mite strange for them to _not_ be socializing together." Wash cocked his head and looked earnestly at her. "I guess what I'm saying is: with so many young men giving you their attention, it probably raises a lot more questions to see you just sitting here." Wash stood up, but didn't let go of her hand. "I promised Mal I'd watch your back – I would guess part of that means helping you blend." He squeezed her hand encouragingly, giving it a gentle tug. "Besides," he added, "there isn't an inch of this room you won't be able to see from the dance floor."

Zoë grimaced uncomfortably, resisting the pull of his hand and liberating herself from his grasp. "I'm not much into dancing, pilot," she said in a low voice, falling back onto using his title again in a way that suggested the matter should be closed.

"I can fake it," Wash pressed. "You just have to follow my lead."

Zoë gave him an uncertain look.

Wash sighed. "Zoë," he said, less jokingly, "there isn't a whole lot I can do to help with this run. I've gotten us here, and now it seems I'm just waiting for the job to get done so I can fly us out. It's been made pretty clear to me that, for the rest of the time, I'm just here as ornamentation – to be your escort so you don't look out of place . . . like a handbag or some such accessory. But if that's the case, then let me do my job." He stepped back from her with another smile and held out his hand again. "Let me accessorize."

Zoë gave him another hesitant look and glanced quickly to where the group of men was still congregating by the window. Occasionally one of them would say something to another in a low tone and peek again in her direction. Zoë turned back to Wash and, without further hesitation, gave him her hand. She squared her lovely shoulders and rose to her feet, all the while allowing her fingers to stay folded within his.

Wash couldn't help but smile as Zoë straightened to her full height before him. He had known she was actually a fair bit taller than he was, but it was especially noticeable when she was wearing heels.

"Ready to do some serious espionage, my lady?" he asked as he drew her arm through the loop of his elbow and began to walk in the direction of the dance floor. On reflex, Wash furtively turned his head toward the group of young men standing by the window and his smile took on a quick flash of gloating. He did not wait to see their reaction.

They reached the center of the floor. Wash continued to hold one of Zoë's hands in his while his other settled upon her waist. The first thing Zoë did was glance at her feet.

"I don't think you're going to find Thornton down there," Wash said with a grin.

Zoë shot him a disapproving glare. "You may regret this," she warned. "I ain't never claimed to be graceful. Not like it ever came in handy during the war."

"I find that hard to believe," Wash replied, releasing her waist for a moment to position her free hand on his shoulder. "Dancing can't be all that different from fighting – just with some music behind the fancy footwork."

Zoë shifted on her feet as her eyes scanned the room.

"Hey," Wash muttered softly to get her attention. She looked at him. "Just let me lead. I promise I won't trip over my own feet . . . or land too heavily on yours." He grinned again and swept them both into the wave of other dancers on the floor.

At first it was more than a little awkward. Their steps did not even remotely resemble the carefully choreographed routines of the other guests. Wash, after all, knew full well he wouldn't recognize a real waltz if Jayne started sashaying one across the cargo bay floor. But at some point, his steps became less tentative, and Zoë's began to feel less like she was running on her tiptoes to keep up with him. Then they relaxed, and just danced.

As their movements became more and more in sync, Wash decided to get a little braver. He hadn't intended it as showing off, at first. However, the desire to prove to Zoë that he wasn't completely without talents unrelated to piloting soon became too great a temptation to resist. His grip on her waist tightened for the briefest moment, then he gave a gentle push, spinning her away from him.

Zoë, who hadn't been expecting it, gave an uncharacteristically startled yelp. Her fingers suddenly clutched Wash's hand more tightly, using him to hold on to her balance as she came to an abrupt stop an arm's length away. Wash jerked his arm back again and Zoë followed, lurching slightly as she stumbled flush into him.

It took a moment for Wash to realize what had happened. One second he was attempting to twirl his dance partner, and the next thing he knew, his arms were completely filled with a rather stunning warrior woman who was pressed flat against him. One of his hands seemed to have caught her at the small of the back, instead of settling into its original position on her hip. Zoë's free hand must have overshot its mark as well, because it was no longer on his shoulder; Wash could feel it at the base of his neck.

A sudden uncomfortable feeling spread through him – though it was not entirely unpleasant. In fact, it was nice. More than nice. And that could only be bad. A quick visual of an instant death at Zoë's lovely hands flashed across his mind. And while Wash admitted it might even be worth it, he still instinctively stepped back away from her with an awkward clearing of his throat.

"Sorry," he chuckled. "I haven't done that for a while. Must be rusty."

Zoë looked about to respond, but then her eyes darted swiftly past him, focusing on something in the crowd. ". . . the hell?" she muttered, and took a step past Wash.

Wash spun around and tried to focus on what Zoë was seeing, but didn't even know what he was looking for. Regardless, he scanned the crowd as he came to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Zoë. "What is it?"

Zoë shook her head, looking slightly confused. "Thought I saw someone," she said.

"Lots of 'someones' about," Wash remarked. "Someone in particular?"

Zoë nodded, her eyes still darting through the mass of people in the ballroom. Whomever she had seen must have been swallowed by the crowd. "Someone who certainly wouldn't belong in a place like this," she said.

"Ah," Wash replied. "Someone like us, you mean."

Zoë nodded again and turned to face him. "Looked an awful lot like a man named Zheng. The captain and I have had run-ins with him before. Not the most reputable sort."

Wash narrowed his eyes. "You think Thornton might have commissioned another smuggler? What, is he comparison shopping?"

"Could be." Zoë looked thoughtfully around the room. "Could be nothing. Either way, we should probably wrap this up quick as possible."

Wash glanced over her shoulder and caught sight of a round, red smiling face. "There," he said, motioning to Zoë with a quick jut of his chin. "Prospective employer at ten o' clock."

Zoë spun around and followed Wash's line of sight. Sure enough, Thornton was near the wall just opposite them, smiling and laughing with a mercifully smaller crowd of people. It seemed as though it was now or never.

Zoë took a quick step toward him, then turned briefly back to Wash. "This won't take long," she said. "I'll take care of the negotiation and meet you back at our original table."

"Aye-aye, ma'am," Wash replied. He didn't bother asking if she wanted him to come along. In a way, he was grateful she _hadn't_ asked. For some reason, after the dancing debacle, he felt the need for a little distance. And maybe some fresh air. He started to walk away.

"Oh, and Wash," he heard Zoë call from behind him. He turned to meet her eyes. "Good job," she added, and began making her way toward Elisha Thornton.

Wash smiled and shoved his hands into his pockets. He glanced around the room and tried to settle upon the best way to kill a few minutes waiting for Zoë. He decided that he probably wouldn't be visiting a house like this again for a fair while, unless this job paid better than even Mal had anticipated. It couldn't hurt to have a bit of a look around – see how the other half lived.

Wash walked out into the hallway and made a left. There were a few guests lingering about, so he didn't feel too out of bounds. The last thing he wanted was to sour the deal Zoë was trying to make by being caught snooping around the employer's palace. With that on his mind, Wash decided that the safest place to get the lowdown on the lifestyles of the rich and eccentric was to pay a visit to the head. Wash spotted one door that looked promising, and began to push it open.

Inside, however, wasn't a washroom. In fact the door was more like the rear entrance to what looked like a large study or a library. There were shelves upon shelves of books lining one wall. Each shelf had its own individual walkway, which were all connected by a large circular staircase extending from floor to ceiling. On the right side of the room was an ornate marble fireplace surrounding a roaring open flame. Numerous sculptures, which were probably outrageously expensive, decorated every corner.

Wash probably would have thought it was the most lavish room he had ever seen, had he taken the time to really notice it. What caught his attention, however, was not the opulent interior decorating . . . but the fifty or more uniformed Alliance troops congregating in the center of the room.

Directly in their midst was a pale young man with thick foppish hair. It was Sutherland, Thornton's footman.

Wash ducked immediately back into the hall. He backed up until he came into contact with the opposite wall.

"_Ai ya_," he breathed. "Well, this can't be good."

To be continued . . .

* * *

Mandarin translations: 

_zhuàng_ – simple-minded  
_bù shàn_ – pretty impressive  
_ai ya_ – damn

**Additional Author's Notes: **In the _Serenity _novelization, "Manfred Asbach" is the name Mr. Universe went by while in flight school with Wash. Some additional information is also provided on the _Firefly_ _Timeline_, which can be found online. (Unfortunately, I can't provide the URL since they won't show up as text on FF.N. But you can find the site through _Yahoo!_, _Google_, or many other search engines.)


	4. Movement the Fourth: Bridge

**Disclaimer:** All standard disclaimers apply. I don't own the 'verse, just the story. Hope it's enjoyed!

**Rating:** PG-13

**Author's Notes:** There will be one more part after this. My thanks to everyone for the feedback!

* * *

**Begin the Beguine**

By Rummi

* * *

**  
Chapter 4 – Movement the Fourth: Bridge**

Wash walked with quick strides away from that door and back toward the ballroom. Several guests were still mulling about in the hallway, chatting and laughing – either completely oblivious as to what was going on . . . or possibly a party to it. Wash began to have an overwhelmingly paranoid feeling as he hurried past each of them. He could feel sweat rising on the back of his neck.

_Damn it, damn it, damn it._ Something was definitely wrong. High-profile aristocrat or not, there was no reason Elisha Thornton would need a fifty-plus fedsquad staking out his _own_ party, filled with _his_ invited guests. Unless . . .

Wash picked up his pace to nearly a run. By the time he re-entered the ballroom, he was breathing heavily. His eyes darted quickly around the room, searching for where he had left Zoë with Thornton.

Wash had no idea what was going on, but he felt he should at least warn Zoë of the situation before they went any further with this deal. Maybe he was just overreacting. It was certainly possible. Somehow, though – with Thornton's own footman organizing the troops – he doubted it.

He caught sight of Zoë and Thornton to his far left. The crowd which had been gathered around Thornton had dispersed and Zoë was stepping forward to offer him her hand in greeting. Thornton accepted it with that same amiable smile – which, to Wash, suddenly appeared underhanded and insincere – and turned it over to place a formal kiss on her knuckles.

Wash darted forward. He had no idea how he was going to get her away from Thornton now, or how he could even discreetly signal that something might be wrong. As he hurried toward them, jostling his way through the crowd, the orchestra struck up a new song. The resonance of it echoed uncomfortably in Wash's ears. In his urgency, it seemed like nothing more than a dissonant tumult of noise. The only clear thing running through his mind was: _Have to get to Zoë. Before she tells him who we are. Who she is._

He reached Zoë's side without an inkling of a plan. His brain didn't even register what he was doing at first. He wasn't thinking when he abruptly gripped her shoulder, spinning her away from Thornton, and around to face him.

Zoë's eyes were wide with shock, and maybe more than a little irritation. "Wha—?" she began.

And Wash did the only thing he could to keep her from saying anything: He seized both her shoulders and kissed her.

Zoë went rigid at first, then very, very still.

Wash tried not to focus on how soft and full the woman's lips were; tried not to dwell on how utterly gorgeous she was or how badly he wanted to prolong this moment in the hopes that she might kiss him back. But Wash wasn't stupid. Neither was Zoë. Given the opportunity, she would undoubtedly realize he was doing this for a reason. However, the shock he had given her could force instinct to take over before that realization had the chance to set in.

A startled Zoë acting on instinct could easily lead to bodily harm and the consequential blowing of cover.

Wash reluctantly pulled away.

Zoë's eyes were huge. The previous irritation seemed to be gone from her face, though the utter shock remained. Wash maintained his firm hold on her shoulders – maybe to anchor her to him, to the moment, so she would understand there was a reason behind his actions. Or maybe just to prevent her from taking a swing at him. He didn't have time to convey any type of serious message with his eyes, because Elisha Thornton was looming over Zoë's shoulder.

Wash plastered on the biggest grin he could muster, showing nearly all his teeth. "Baby!" he said dramatically. His fingers continued to press urgently against Zoë's skin. He glanced over her shoulder to where Thornton was standing, staring at him.

"My profoundest apologies, Lord Thornton," Wash said, still smiling hugely. "I just need to borrow my wife for a few minutes." His eyes focused back on Zoë. "They're playing our song, you know."

He began to walk away and his hands slid down her arms. When he reached her fingers he clutched them tightly and led her in the direction of the dance floor. Zoë turned her head back toward Thornton and politely said, "Be back in a minute." Then she lengthened her strides to walk beside Wash. She was still smiling, but it was forced; she was clearly not amused. "You _do_ have a good explanation for that," she demanded though gritted teeth. It wasn't a question.

"God, I hope so," Wash said, letting out his breath in a nervous whoosh. He stopped and turned to face her, assuming the position to dance. Zoë stepped in toward him, placing one hand in his and the other on his shoulder. Her face, however, spoke volumes as to her growing anger and impatience. This time Wash didn't bother with any particular steps; the two simply swayed to the music while he tried to find the words to explain himself.

"What the hell happened back there, pilot?" Zoë hissed. The plastic smile she had flashed to Thornton was gone. She was definitely serious now.

"Okay, listen," Wash replied. "I know mounting my head on a stick and using it as a hood ornament for _Serenity_ is probably sounding pretty good about now, but just hear me out. This business deal? I don't think it's on the up-and-up."

Zoë's brow furrowed slightly. "What do you mean?"

Wash started breathing a little easier when it seemed as though Zoë was listening. "After you left to talk to Thornton, I went into the hall – just to kill some time and see the kind of _huā qiào_ place he has for himself."

"And?"

"Oh, Thornton has got an interesting assortment all right," Wash replied. "Including a room filled with more than fifty feds, all armed to the teeth, with Thornton's prissy little butler right in the gorram middle of them."

Zoë stopped dancing abruptly and stared at him. The anger had evaporated and was quickly replaced by alarm. If there was one thing Zoë could do, however, it was cover herself. Nearly as quickly as it took for her surprise to settle, she was dancing again. This time she drew closer to Wash so she could keep her voice at a whisper. She swayed with him, her chin hovering over his shoulder and her breath tickling his ear as she asked, "Are you sure?"

"I know what I saw," Wash confirmed. "Either our would-be employer is overly serious about security, or something's going on that we aren't supposed to know about."

Zoë exhaled in frustration, but didn't allow it to seep into her body language. She and Wash continued to dance, and Wash could feel the softness of her cheek against his skin. "Gorram mystery shoppers," she said lowly. "No wonder there were so many people crowded around him all night."

"Come again?" Wash asked.

"It's what the captain calls them," Zoë replied. "Usually bored aristocratic types looking for a little adventure in their lives. The Alliance uses them to set up sting operations. Entrapment. They send out a broadwave disguised as a personal message, usually advertising work for smugglers, arms runners and the like. The marks show up at a designated time and place, get caught making a deal . . ." She shook her head. "Nice easy clean-up, and the feds get to meet some kind of quota for keeping disreputables out of the sky."

"So Thornton invites a roomful of smugglers to a party that's really just one big ambush?"

Zoë nodded. "Not all of them, though. Some are honest guests," she said. "Because what's the point of staging the heroic capture of notorious criminals if society's not going to be talking about it tomorrow?"

"So we're the evening's entertainment," Wash muttered. "Dinner and stakeout. That explains why you thought you saw your old friend Zheng."

"Probably a few more here than just him. And Thornton is wired, most like. That way the feds get names and voice scans."

"God," Wash breathed. "And our gracious host has just been keeping a running tally of how many potential smugglers he's spoken with all—"

He cut himself off abruptly and pulled back from Zoë. Wash's eyes were wide and his entire face was a mask of concern. "Oh, my God, did you tell him?" he asked her. His hand reflexively tightened at the small of her back, though the movement didn't register in his mind. "You didn't give him your name, did you?"

Zoë's features softened as she looked back at him. She seemed almost surprised at his obvious worry. After a muted moment, Zoë shook her head. "No," she said softly. "No, I didn't. Not yet." She tilted her head and stared at him curiously – as though scrutinizing every inch of his face, trying to decide how to catalog his genuine concern. In the end, she simply said, "Thank you."

And she smiled at him then. It was slight and it was subdued, but it was every bit as radiant as Wash had imagined it would be. She wasn't expressing any sort of wry amusement or merely smirking at one of his jokes; Zoë Alleyne was gracing him with an honest smile born from genuine gratitude, and Wash felt like she was handing him every world in the 'verse.

He was so transfixed by the upward curve of her beautiful mouth, he nearly forgot that this was neither the time nor the place to attempt another kiss. But, oh, if he ever had a second chance, he'd be sure to kiss her soundly next time. For another smile like that, he'd kiss her breathless.

For his part, he simply returned her smile and said, "Anytime."

Zoë drew herself back toward him, her mouth very close to his ear once more. "We'll have to get out of here before the fireworks start," she whispered.

"I don't suppose we can inconspicuously walk out the front door," Wash offered.

"Main entrances will be watched," Zoë replied. "They're not likely to let anyone out at this point – legitimate guest or not. Feds will probably start taking up their positions for the raid any minute, if they haven't already. And those invites Thornton sent out must have been coded in some way, so the Alliance knows just how many arrests they're looking to make tonight."

"So what do we do?"

"I got a decent lay of the land when we first arrived. The east balcony overlooks the garden that leads to the docking bay. If we time it right, we might be able to slip out before the excitement starts."

Wash twisted his head around to look at the nearest set of balcony doors. Folks had been coming in and out of them all night, which meant they probably weren't being watched as carefully as the house's main exits – so as not to arouse too much suspicion prior to the main event, most like. Zoë was right; it might be their best chance.

Wash suddenly felt a gentle touch on his chin. Warm fingers were drawing his head back around until he was practically nose-to-nose with Zoë. She smiled softly at him again as her hand continued to cup his face. Wash couldn't take his eyes off her. He couldn't blink. His skin felt too warm and tight all of a sudden. There was a flush forming at the base of his neck. Zoë's smile became a teasing smirk. "The _other_ east balcony, Wash," she said, guiding his head in a full rotation until he was staring at the opposite door.

"Ah," Wash said. "Right." He chuckled as he turned back to face her. "You were investigating that potential exit strategy pretty seriously, weren't you?"

"As seriously as you were investigating the buffet table."

Wash grinned. "Touché."

As the music picked up, Zoë and Wash quickened their steps. Rather than make an immediate beeline for the balcony, it seemed less obvious if they simply allowed themselves to get swept up in the movement of the crowd of dancers – especially if Thornton still had his eye on them as potential targets in his little game. That way they could slip out of the house when they reached the door.

Wash wasn't leading them anymore, though it hardly seemed to matter. A brief thought flashed through his mind that Zoë had, in fact, been mistaken about herself: She _was_ graceful.

She could have easily taken control of their movements another way – by hauling him up and dragging him along with her. Wash had seen her do as much before. Once or twice he'd witnessed her dashing through the cargo door of _Serenity_, heaving the rag-doll form of an injured Mal with her. But that wasn't what Zoë was doing now; she wasn't simply towing Wash unceremoniously across the dance floor. She took measured, deliberate steps that Wash followed easily as they traveled along with the crowd, drawing nearer and nearer to the balcony door. She honestly moved like a dancer – like the fighter she was.

He knew it. Calm, cool and in control, no matter what the situation.

When they got to the door, they kept going, slipping behind the silky curtain and out onto the balcony. There were no other guests about at the moment, and the warm night air felt cool against the skin after leaving the confines of the party.

The balcony was more than a balcony. It was actually a walkway that wrapped along the side of the house, offering a panoramic view of what was probably a very impressive garden in the daytime. The only light that drifted outside shone from the mansion's windows; the muted glow lay intermittently along the stone surface of the walkway like an arrangement of soft luminous veils. Down in the gardens, the Chinese lanterns twinkled like multicolored lightning bugs as they dotted the path toward Thornton's private shuttle docks.

Zoë wasted no time taking in the view. She stepped toward the thick stone railing and glanced over the side, tugging on the sleeve of Wash's jacket as she went. Wash followed obediently until they were both peering over the edge. The light from the party didn't reach very far down the outside wall, but Wash could definitely make out the shadow of an intricate latticework extending toward the ground. There were shades of what looked to be flowering vines climbing against the horizontal surface. It wouldn't be the most dignified way of leaving such a high-class shindig, but it was certainly the more direct route.

Zoë suddenly started at his side, and Wash could hear her curse sharply under her breath. The next thing he knew, she was tugging him quickly back toward the balcony doors. He'd gotten so accustomed to following her lead over the last few minutes, he didn't even think to resist any pushing or pulling she inflicted upon him now. This was the part of the mission she was best suited for, after all. And he trusted her. He did. Once they got back to the shuttle, however, then it would be Wash's turn. His domain.

But they had to get there first.

Wash felt his back strike the outer brick wall of the house, just to the side of the balcony door. Zoë crowded up against him, and that was when he heard what she must have noticed – even when it had only been a distant echo: the rhythmic _snap-click_ of terse boot-steps on stone. Every step was sharp, precise, military . . .

Alliance.

The feds must have begun taking their positions, and several of them were probably going to use the balcony doors as a means of entrance once the raid began. There was only one set of footsteps at the moment – likely doing a last minute reconnaissance sweep to secure the area before signaling to the others. But there would soon be more. If what Wash had seen in Thornton's study was any indication, probably a lot more.

Wash and Zoë didn't move from their location as the steps grew increasingly louder and closer. They couldn't flee back into the party because they might not get another chance to slip outside, leaving them trapped when the Alliance raid began. But the alcove in which they found themselves wasn't quite deep enough to conceal them. The shadows weren't quite long enough to hide them. It was inevitable that they would be seen.

Wash and Zoë stared for a frozen moment toward the sound of the oncoming footfalls, which were soon accompanied by an elongated shadow emerging from around the corner of the walkway.

"I told Mal I should have brought a gorram gun," Zoë muttered wryly. She cast her eyes in several directions – searching – and finally settled on Wash's face. He stared back, but could offer little by way of a solution. Suddenly Zoë set her jaw and her eyes darkened. She shot one swift, determined glance back in the direction of the oncoming shadow, then turned quickly back to Wash.

A second later her mouth was covering his.

In retrospect, Wash thought, kissing Zoë to get her away from Elisha Thornton had probably been a very bad idea. It was bad because ever since he'd done it, he'd wanted to do it again. It was bad because, even as they had worked out the details of their escape plan, the one which had been aimed specifically at keeping them both out of jail, Zoë's gorgeous mouth – and how it had felt under his – had never been far from his mind. It was bad because he had promised himself if he ever got a second chance, he'd do it right. It was bad because, now that Wash was getting his second chance, he knew that not even the great and mighty forces of the Union of Allied Planets in all their bounteous authority were going to be enough to get him to stop.

Zoë's hands were on his face at first, holding him firmly in place even as she pushed him against the wall and as far into the shadows as they both would go. Wash's arms hovered in midair for a moment, then one hand settled on her waist and the other came up to cup the ladle of her jaw, just below her ear. The tips of his fingers dipped slightly into her curtain of hair, pushing some of the loose curls back and away from her face. He angled his head against her and Zoë made a small noise of surprise in the back of her throat.

It was the smallest sound Wash had ever heard her make. Even so, it was like a jolt going straight to the heart of him. It was all the encouragement he needed.

He straightened suddenly and the hand at Zoë's waist snaked all the way around her back, pulling her flush against him. In an instant he had spun them both about, until it was Zoë's back that was now pressing against the outer wall of the house. They pulled away from each other then. Zoë eyes were wide, and Wash could feel his heart pounding thunderously in his chest. His breath came shallowly as he looked at her. If she was going to kill him, she'd better do it now.

But Zoë's hands slid from his face and settled against his chest, just above the thudding timbre of his heart. She didn't use them to push him away; she didn't even try to tear his head off. She simply rested them there. He could feel the heat of her palms, even through his layers of formalwear. He could also feel her fingers begin to curl until she was gripping handfuls of the starched fabric. Wash stared, transfixed, at her lips as she moistened them. They shone like liquid honey in the muted light emitted from the doorway. Her eyes suddenly darkened again, and the next time they came crashing together, Zoë's mouth opened beneath his.

For a moment, Wash's hand remained resting beneath her jaw, where he could feel Zoë's pulse quicken against his skin. Then it traveled farther behind her head and wrapped around the thick tendrils of her hair, trying to pull her even closer. Her tongue pressed and stroked against his, and he could feel her fingers tugging furiously at the ascot he'd worked so hard to straighten. Wash didn't give it a second thought – except that he hoped she'd just tear the damn thing.

Wash bent himself over the fiery pull of Zoë's mouth, pressing one leg between her thighs. He swallowed her gasp and felt her hands slide beneath his open jacket. Her blunt fingernails raked toward his spine, pulling him tight against her. With the roar of blood pounding in his ears, Wash never heard whatever it was she caused him to murmur against her lips.

Something broke loose inside Wash in that moment. He'd kissed plenty of women in his life but for some reason, this time, some vital part of him knew that from now on – for him – there would only be this. This woman, this _feeling_. Wash didn't simply resign himself to his fate; he welcomed it.

When they finally broke apart they were both gasping for breath. Wash was reluctant to move, as though doing so would nullify the moment. He did manage to bring his hand back around to her cheek, and he felt a warmth spread through him when she reflexively leaned into it.

"Zoë," he murmured, stroking the pad of his thumb against her skin. "I . . ."

She smiled at him then, and any residual doubts that Wash may have been harboring vanished into the night air. "If I'd known you were so good at that," she said softly between breaths, "I'd have made you shave that gorram bristle off long ago."

Wash's eyes went very wide, but she was still smiling at him and it was unbelievably infectious. His returning grin was so huge, for a moment it felt like his face might split open.

It took everything in his power to keep himself from kissing her all over again.

Zoë glanced over his shoulder and Wash suddenly remembered the patrolling trooper. He was certain that he didn't hear anything anymore. In fact, once Zoë had started kissing him, Wash had no recollection of observing the fed, hearing any further approaching footsteps . . . or even his apparent departure for that matter. But when Wash reluctantly detached himself from Zoë and looked behind him, the balcony was, again, deserted.

Together they moved away from the wall and hurried back over to the railing. They would probably only be alone for a window of a few moments, and something told Wash that a vigorous public display of affection wouldn't be enough to make the Alliance look the other way a second time. (Although he wouldn't be opposed to giving it a try.) They looked over the side of the balustrade. The ground below was also deserted, for the moment.

In an instant, Zoë was bending double. She reached down to her feet and grabbed the hem of her dress, pulling it through the high slit and between her legs. She wrapped the black sash at her waist around it and tied it off, transforming the long dress into what now looked like a set of very short, loose-fitting breeches. Although he needed little reminding, Wash was again struck by the fabulousness of the woman's legs.

Zoë glanced up and down the balcony one last time, then she hoisted herself onto the railing and swung her legs over the side, easing herself down to the lattice. Wash heard a pair of dull thuds – Zoë had kicked her shoes down to the earth below. She waited for a moment, keeping her eyes intently on the ground to see if the muffled noise had attracted any attention. When she seemed satisfied, she looked back up at Wash.

"It's metal," she said, bracing her feet firmly on the lattice. "Should hold up all right. Let's go."

Before she could climb down, Wash placed his hand over hers on the stone railing. She paused and looked up at him. "Zoë," he said, "when we get back, I'd like very much to have a talk with you." He smiled. "A _proper_ talk. If you want."

For a second she just looked at him again, with that same odd combination of surprise and curiosity. Then her lips were coaxed into a sly smile. "Wouldn't say no to a drink," she said. "Later."

"Okay," Wash grinned. "Good." He released her hand and hopped up onto the railing. Zoë began the downward climb as he swung his legs around and lowered himself after her. A minute later, they had descended the lattice and were on the ground.

Zoë held up her hand and Wash paused behind her. Only the garden separated the house from the dock, but there was no way of knowing just how many feds were stationed between them and the shuttle by now. They took a few cautious steps across the darkened lawn. Zoë passed over the spot where her shoes were lying, but didn't bother to pick them up.

They made it just beyond the shadow of the house, when a stern voice shouted, "Hey! Who's there?"

"Run," Zoë ordered sharply, and the two were immediately sprinting across the grass.

All around them floodlights suddenly blazed to life – burning, blinding and aimed directly at the upper floor of the house. Above them, raised voices and chaos erupted from the building as the sound of the Alliance raid reached them on the ground below. Wash could hear yelling and struggle emanating from what had been the party, even as he and Zoë belted past the heavy search lamps and into the relative darkness of the garden.

It was obvious that not all the assembled feds were inside the house, however. Shadows of ground troops emerged from beyond the plots of well-manicured flora.

"Keep going!" Zoë called back automatically, but it was unnecessary; Wash was not about to break his stride. He managed to stay only a few steps behind her.

The low-pitched drone of a sonic rifle shot thrummed through the air. Then a second. Wash reflexively ducked his head at the sound, but kept going. Just as he felt as though his lungs might explode, he and Zoë were charging up the shuttle's ramp.

Wash didn't waste a second. He dashed to the fore, falling into the pilot's chair. He fired the engines and tossed an order back at Zoë to shut the hatch. She did, and Wash flipped several switches on the control panel above his head. He tugged back the throttle and the thrusters roared to life. Zoë made her way to the front, and Wash pulled back on the control column. They were airborne in moments.

Zoë stumbled slightly against the shuttle's sudden pitch and dropped into the co-pilot's seat. Wash quickly compensated and evened them out while Zoë drew her safety harness over her shoulders. "They comin' up behind us?" she asked.

"They are," Wash replied evenly.

Behind them, a pair of security transports roared from the opposite end of the bay. They didn't belong to the Alliance, however, and had probably been deployed from Thornton's own command center the moment an unauthorized departure registered in the system. Either that, or they had been sent out earlier to assist the feds by patrolling the perimeter.

They were actually just a pair of short-range speedsters. Unlike federal cruisers, they didn't have the ability to follow the shuttle out of atmo. What they did have, however, was speed – as well as a sophisticated grappling system. If they pulled alongside the shuttle and hit it with an electrical conduit from each angle, Wash and Zoë would find themselves debilitated. After that, it would only be a small matter of waiting around until the feds picked them up at leisure.

Regardless of the closing security ships, Wash kept his heading straight, even and controlled. "Do me a favor," he said to Zoë. His face was the picture of intense concentration, but his tone was as light as if he were simply asking her to pass the salt. "Pick up the comm and hail _Serenity_."

Zoë grabbed the radio and flipped on the broadcast channel. "Sir?" she said into the mouthpiece. "Captain, do you read?"

Mal must have been in the vicinity of the bridge, because it didn't take long for his voice to crackle over the comm unit. "_Zoë? What have you got?_"

"May I have speakers, please?" Wash asked her, keeping his voice level, even as he banked a hard right to avoid the pursuing ships. Zoë punched a button above their heads and held on to her seat.

"Mal," Wash spoke up into the overhead speaker unit. "We're looking to rendezvous. How long before you can get _Serenity_ in the air?"

Mal's pause was rather extensive. "_Mind telling me why you'd rather not meet up with us here_?" he asked. His voice was measured, if a bit suspicious. "_What happened with the job?_"

"Job was certainly interesting, sir. I'll let Zoë tell you all about it. For now, what's say you meet up with us somewhere a little less visible than the docks."

"_Where are you now?_"

"We're low in the weeds right now, Mal, but we're looking to get a bit higher once we shake a few pests," Wash answered as he checked the instrument panel. Zoë, at his side, was watching the trajectory of their pursuers.

"_Gorramit, Wash. What the hell happened with the job?_"

"There was no job, sir," Zoë answered for him. "Our man Thornton was a flannel-mouthed liar."

"We'll tell you the whole story when we meet up with you," Wash added. "In the meantime, think you can coax her up without me?" He grinned to himself, imagining Mal's reaction.

"_Where?_" the captain's voice was tight over the comm unit.

"How about orbit?" Wash asked. "Orbit work for you?"

"_This better be a damn good story_," Mal muttered over the radio. His transmission was garbled by the firing of _Serenity_'s engines.

Zoë replaced the radio handset in its cradle and Wash reached for the controls on the front instrument panel. He manipulated the tailfin rudder, and this time the shuttle yawed hard to the left.

"You told the captain we'd meet them in orbit," Zoë said.

"That I did," Wash replied.

"So don't you think you should head there, Wash, 'stead of skimming the surface? Those security transports can't follow us out of atmo."

"True enough," Wash agreed. "But they can get a bulletin out to those who can. As long as they see us hugging the land, they may not tie us to _Serenity_. I'll burn for atmo once we lose them."

Zoë glanced at the viewscreen. The speedsters were gaining. She gave him a skeptical look. "Can you do that?"

Wash flashed her a wicked grin. "Watch me."

A returning smile spread infectiously across Zoë's face.

"Besides," Wash added, turning back to the front, "I've got me a date later that I do _not_ want to miss." He gripped the controls and pressed onward.

Zoë raised her eyebrow and then she, too, turned back to face the window. "Any particular way you plan on accomplishing that?" she asked.

"They've got decent grapplers on those things," he said. "But the trade-off is they're very short-range. That's why the speedsters need to be so fast – have to get pretty damn close to use them."

"So?"

"So I let them get close."

Wash continued to push straight, banking occasionally when things got a little too tight. The security transports continued to advance. Soon they were close enough that Wash could clearly see gunners manning the swiveling grapplers, located in the tail-mounted turret of each vessel. The speedsters broke into a Y formation, edging forward to flank the shuttle on either side.

"Do me a favor," Wash said. He suddenly grabbed Zoë's hand and positioned it on the largest lever on instrument panel between them. "When I say, push forward on this. I'm going to need you to cut the throttle, and cut it hard." He felt Zoë's fingers tighten on the lever beneath his. "Only . . ." he eased. They looked at each other over their joined hands. ". . . when I say."

Zoë nodded and relaxed her grip. Then he released her hand.

Wash watched the speedsters creep up either side of the shuttle. His eyes shifted rapidly from left to right and he concentrated on keeping the yoke straight and steady. He saw one of the turret gunmen shift his grip on his weapon.

"NOW!"

Zoë slammed the throttle forward and the shuttle thrusters all but cut out. Wash felt a horrible jolt where the shoulder harness crushed into his chest from the sudden deceleration. But it worked: the speedsters sped ahead for a several more meters, and the pulsing charge of an electrical conduit shot across the shuttle's bow, sideswiping one of the pursuing vessels. It dropped quickly off the viewscreen.

"_Throttle_!" Wash called, but he didn't wait for Zoë to react. He automatically gripped the lever, with Zoë's hand still there, and wrenched it back. The engines roared to life again. Wash and Zoë were slammed back in their seats as the shuttle banked hard and changed direction.

The remaining speedster managed to stay on them through the turn, but spun out when it flew wide and clipped the wing of its derelict partner. Wash grinned when both vessels vanished from the radar. He finally released his breath in a huge whoosh, grinning as though he'd just had the time of his life.

"Whew!" he breathed. "_That_ was an eye-opener, huh?"

Zoë looked back at him, smiling. Good God, he would never get tired of seeing that. Then he realized that her hand was still beneath his on the throttle. He risked an extra moment or two before removing it.

"Burned pretty hard reigniting the throttle," she observed as Wash settled back into his seat with both hands on the controls. "We have enough to break atmo?"

"Should do," Wash answered. "So long as we use the momentum we're running on to get there and don't slow down again."

Zoë nodded. "Makes sense," she said casually. "Nothin' good ever came of taking backward steps."

Wash looked her in the eyes and he smiled.

"_Wash?_" Mal's voice crackled over the comm unit. "_Zoë? You both all right down there? What's your status?_"

"Just breaking atmo now, Mal," Wash answered. "We're looking at an ETA of about seven minutes."

"_Fine_," Mal replied. "_We'll be waiting._"

The shuttle shuddered a bit as it rose through the atmosphere of New Xian. Wash eased his grip on the control column and guided the vessel into a slow drift as the black enveloped them.

To be concluded . . .

* * *

Mandarin Translations:

_huā qiào_ – fancy


	5. Movement the Fifth: Coda

**Disclaimer:** All standard disclaimers apply. I don't own the 'verse, just the story. Hope it's enjoyed!

**Rating:** PG-13

**Author's Notes:** Once more, I'd like to extend a very warm thank you to those who took the time to offer a bit of feedback: Thanks so much! I had a wonderful time writing this fic for the first Z/W ficathon, and I certainly hope those who have been reading enjoy the conclusion of the story.

* * *

Begin the Beguine

By Rummi

* * *

**  
Chapter 5 – Movement the Last: Coda**

"Huh."

Mal crossed his arms as he stood beside Wash's chair and stared at the screen above the bridge's console. It had been several hours since Shuttle II's return to _Serenity_, and the crew had been watching the Cortex to see how actively they were being pursued.

They had settled into an orbit around New Xian's nearest moon. However, the possibility of leaving this quadrant altogether didn't look very promising at the moment. _Serenity_ had burned a good bit of her reserve just to reach New Xian, and while it was possible to put out a wave to another, more reliable, contact, Wash knew the definite lack of fuel and funds meant that the odds of reaching an alternative job were pretty slim.

Yet the captain seemed to be in strangely good spirits. At first Wash thought this peculiar, considering the southerly direction last evening's mission had taken. But as he listened a little more carefully to the latest newswave coming over the Cortex, he had to admit: it made the prospect of being super-poor, unemployed and stranded seem a little less bleak.

"Well, isn't that interesting?" Mal observed.

"What's that, sir?" Zoë stepped through the bridge's hatch behind them and came to stand beside Mal.

"Our friend Thornton made the Cortex for a few reasons last night," Mal replied. "Looks as though he received an official commendation for aiding in the arrest of six alleged smugglers . . ."

". . . _And_ an official penalty from the local magistrate for reckless endangerment," Wash added with a grin. "Seems a good number of the party guests were none too pleased with Mr. Thornton after being manhandled in last evening's commotion."

Zoë raised an eyebrow, a corner of her mouth quirking upward. "Really?"

"Guess Thornton got his wish," Wash said. "The society bulletin on the Cortex is positively buzzing about him this morning."

"Not all good, I take it?" Zoë said.

"Upper class folk can be downright nasty when they want to be," Mal replied.

"I actually feel kind of bad for the guy," Wash added. "He was just looking to impress. Now I hear tell he has to reimburse quite a few people for damage to personal property during the feds' routine seizure and frisking."

"Aristocratic bigwig doling out compensation, and we can't even consider demanding lost wages," Mal lamented lightheartedly.

"Wouldn't that be nice?" Wash agreed. "I have the feeling our speedy getaway means I'm out the security deposit for my suit too. Shame, because we could sure use the funds. _Serenity_'s going to need to run on a little bit more than happy thoughts and mythical fairy dust if we ever want to make it out of this sector."

"We may not be so bad off as you think," Zoë assured Wash as she turned to Mal. "You said six smugglers were detained last night, sir? Anything about us?"

"Not so far," Mal answered. "No mention of the one that got away. And I'm willing to bet there won't be at this point. Thornton's probably suffered about as much embarrassment over this little _nán dù_ as he cares to."

"There's our solution, then," Zoë nodded.

"I'm not sure I follow," Wash said, glancing up at them both.

"Thornton's public image is a mite precarious right now," Mal answered. "The Alliance may be pleased as punch with him, but his fellow highbrows don't seem to have the same appreciation for being caught up in his little sting last night."

"Don't need too many guesses to figure whose opinion he cares more about," Zoë interjected.

"He'll be eating plenty of crow in the days ahead," Mal said. "Admitting that a pair of potentially dangerous criminals actually _escaped_ might only compound his public humiliation."

"It's likely he'll bury any evidence of us being there," Zoë added. "The invitation that was unaccounted for, the docking log of the shuttle that fled . . . The security speedsters were his too, so he can cover up the chase and the accident pretty easy."

"The feds in the garden weren't his," Wash reminded them. "Can't they confirm an escape?"

Mal shrugged. "Can't prove it. Not without Thornton's testimony to back it up. As it stands, for all they know, you two were just a couple of panicked guests."

Wash grinned. "So our back-stabbing host has become an unwitting ally," he mused. "Shiny."

"Which means we don't have to clear out of this sector in such a hurry after all," Mal said, smiling in satisfaction. "If they ain't looking for _us_, we're free to inquire as to some honest work right here in this quadrant. Or . . ." He shrugged again. ". . . some less-than-honest-high-paying work. Preferably on a world where I'm not a wanted man."

"Yet," Zoë added dryly.

"Yet," Mal confirmed with a definitive nod. "Wash, check our fuel, then get on the Cortex. Let's see what we come up with."

"Can do, cap'n," Wash replied, cheerfully spinning his chair toward his instrument panel.

"And, Wash?" Mal was hovering in the doorway, grinning broadly, when Wash turned back around. "Good work last night." And the captain left the bridge.

Wash stared at the empty hatch with a self-satisfied smile. As he spun the chair back his eyes fell on Zoë. She was also smiling. It seemed such a natural sight now, as though she'd been gracing him with easy smiles since he'd come aboard. Again he found it difficult to take his eyes off her.

"It was," she said, confirming Mal's appraisal.

"Well," Wash replied, ducking his head with a mix of pride and modesty, "I hadn't exactly known I was signing on as a professional getaway driver when I took this job, but I can't say it hasn't been fun. And I do like to earn the paycheck that we occasionally get."

Zoë nodded and crossed her arms. "Oh, you're a damn good pilot, Wash. No question," she said. "Captain wouldn't have hired you otherwise. So I wouldn't have expected any less last night."

Wash crossed his own arms and sat back in his chair, grinning. "Yeah?"

"I was referring to the rest of it, though," she clarified. "You handled yourself really well back there. And let's face it, if you hadn't seen those feds the way you did, we would both be cooling our heels in a local prison right now. The whole crew, most like, if they tied us to _Serenity_."

"Oh," Wash said, sitting up straight in his chair. His expression had changed from genuine pride to slight surprise. The flying part, that was second nature, but the rest . . . "That was really just luck," he said.

Zoë shrugged, her grin unfading. "Out here . . . in this life . . . most good jobs are."

Wash digested that for a moment, hoping to respond with something articulate and meaningful. But Zoë's praise in conjunction with Zoë's smile had temporarily overloaded his brain. "Thanks," was all he could manage.

After a beat, Zoë turned to face the black. "Guess that means good luck for your friend Asbach too," she said. "Since Thornton most likely destroyed the invitation we gave him, the feds probably won't be tracing that name all over the Cortex."

"Bah," Wash droned with a dismissive wave of his arm. "I doubt they'd find him. It may not have even been his real name." Off Zoë's sideways glance, he added, "Skilled in duplicity, remember? Really good at covering his own tracks. Besides, the guy owes me one. More than one, truth be told. I'll have to tell you the story sometime."

Zoë turned back to him with her hands on her hips. "You may have to at that," she said with a nod. She began to walk for the door.

"Zoë."

When she turned again to face him, Wash was on his feet. He honestly couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten up so fast. Zoë took a step back in his direction, an eyebrow raised expectantly, and Wash managed to gather his thoughts.

"I'm not doing much here," he said, indicating the empty pilot's chair with a backward toss of his hand. "I mean, we're in orbit at the moment, so there won't be any need to, you know, _steer_ for a bit. Even the fishhooks I'm sending out in regards to a job may take a while to get a response." He took a step toward her. "I have time . . . now," he said, softer. "If you do."

Zoë regarded him with an unreadable expression for a moment. "I should probably help the captain do an inventory and assess our reserve," she said. "When we do hear about a job, we're going to need to know where we stand in terms of getting to it." She smiled after speaking, and her expression was all at once soft and womanly and sly. "Nothin' that can't wait a bit."

Wash smiled, but only for an instant. A second later he reached for her, and Zoë's mouth was beneath his for the third time in less than twenty-four hours. It was slower this time, more careful – not nearly as punctuated as the one they shared in front of Thornton, nor as frantic as the display on the balcony. Even as such, it was enough to reaffirm for Wash just how badly he wanted this woman.

Zoë had met him halfway and, as Wash's hands settled on her hips, he felt her arms drop to her sides. Then they were suddenly wrapped around his neck, fingers in his hair, drawing him down into something warm and full and very mutual. He pulled her nearer, closing the slight gap between them, and felt himself shiver as she sighed softly against his lips.

Wash thought he was well acquainted with flying. Apparently he still had a few things to learn.

Too soon they broke apart, though their foreheads continued to rest against each other. Zoë smiled. "What was that for?"

Wash shrugged with a slightly giddy grin. "Just making sure I didn't imagine last night," he said.

Zoë stepped back from him, though her hands still lightly gripped his forearms. "I also seem to recall something about a drink," she hinted.

"Right!" Wash broke away from her quickly to program the alert sequence, in case they were hailed about a potential job while he was away from the controls. "I thought I smelled coffee brewing in the galley."

"I had something a little better in mind than Jayne's idea of coffee," Zoë replied. "Got some decent moonshine in my bunk." She raised a suggestive eyebrow as she turned for the door. "Interested?"

Wash faced her. His expression became the picture of intense, if ironic, wariness, and he wrung his hands dramatically. "Oh, I don't know," he droned. "Been warned about that variety of beverage back in flight school. Leads to all manner of iniquity and loosened tongues."

"Mmm," Zoë affirmed with a nod. "Among other things, I'm told." With a final glance she stepped out of the hatch and down the stairs.

Wash waited until she was out of sight before he smiled broadly. _Zoë Alleyne_, he thought. The woman was severe and curt and as deadly as she was beautiful. He'd also had the good fortune to learn that she was breathtakingly radiant when she smiled and mind-blowingly good at kissing. Even after all that, he'd be lying if he still didn't think she was a little bit scary.

He punched the confirmation button for the alert sequence. Then he strode purposefully after her.

After all, Hoban Washburne was no coward.

**The End**

* * *

Mandarin Translations: 

_nán dù_ - problem

**Additional Author's Notes:** Again, little details as to Wash's history with Mr. Universe (whether fans consider it canon or not) can be found in the novelization of _Serenity_, as well as at the "Firefly Timeline" (found online).

Thanks again for reading!


End file.
